Babushka Slava's Visit
by elfstar89
Summary: The only thing the Slavic countries fear more than General Winter or Ivan is their Babushka Slava.  And Babushka Slava has decided that she wants to celebrate the holidays with all of them, whether they like it or not.
1. Letter From Babushka

A/N: This is my first fanfic. Forgive any wording that doesn't sound quite right. ^^;

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Russia held the letter with its graceful and scrupulous hand as if it was a ticking bomb. _Not Babushka, not Babushka, not Babushka_, was all that was going through his normally cunning brain. Ukraine and Belarus were dancing together, and the expression on the younger sister's face was that of the lioness who'd caught the eagle. Russia dropped the letter abruptly and made a run for the vodka cellar, fully intending to barricade himself in, in the futile hope that his Babushka wouldn't find him.

Belarus was much faster and flung her arms around Russia's waist in an iron grip that would have made Stalin cry with tears of pride. "Babushka Slava's coming for a visit! Isn't that wonderful?"

_No, it's not_, was what he wanted to say, but more than that, he wanted to be locked up in the vodka cellar.

Ukraine tapped Russia on the shoulder. "We should tidy up the house before Babushka arrives. Babushka does like a tidy house," she said with a touch of cheerfulness.

"After Russia and I get engaged," Belarus asserted, blue eyes fixated on Ivan's face. "And then we'll be married, _married_, MARRIED!"

Yekaterina paused to consider this while Russia's face developed a panicky look. "Wouldn't Babushka like to see this?" she asked finally. "I'm sure Babushka would like to know about the engagement first." She picked up the dropped letter and perused it again. "Babushka says she wants everyone to come. We should go tell everyone."

Natalia froze. "Not Slobodanka. Slobodanka is not coming here. She is not staying anywhere near my Ivan," she said between clenched teeth while gripping Ivan tighter than ever.

"Babushka did say everyone, so Slobodanka has to come, too, Natalia. I could go get everyone, but…" she trailed off, looking around Ivan's dilapidated house. "Babushka always did say Ivan had the loveliest house. She'll be so disappointed if it isn't clean by the time she gets here," she said mournfully.

"Fine, Ivan and I will go get everyone. It'll be a pre-wedding honeymoon," she added quickly. Ivan almost whimpered at the prospect.

* * *

Babushka Slava settled down in an airy parlor in Czech's house. It was rather worrying to her to see so much scaffolding around the house, since Libushe had always been scrupulous in caring for her house. She arranged her deep blue wool skirt, sitting up straight and tall in the red plush and gilt chair Czech had so graciously offered her Babushka. At least Libushe's manners hadn't waned as her house had.

"Grandmama," Libushe said, "I've brought your tea." A diminutive, well-built young woman with high cheekbones, rich brown eyes, and a mane of soft brown hair flowing down to about her waist entered with a silver tea service. She was clearly Babushka's granddaughter, with the same curvy build, the high cheekbones, and the diminutive stature. Unlike her Babushka, who was dressed in a full skirt with a black satin sash and a crisp, lacy white late Victorian blouse, as well as fine silver and sapphire jewelry and classy black button-up boots, the younger woman wore black slacks, more piratical boots, gold and amber jewelry, and a white peasant blouse with gold beads and sequins.

Babushka smiled. "Just as mannerly as ever," she said, kissing Czech on the cheek as she leaned down to set the tea service on the elegant Art Nouveau table between Babushka's chair and the matching ottoman Czech settled onto. "How have things been with you?"

"Improving steadily," Czech said, pouring the tea and adding a generous portion of milk and sugar to her fine china cup. "The European Union has accepted me and my bosses hold respected places within the leadership. One cube of sugar and a splash of milk, right?"

"Correct," Babushka said cheerfully. Libushe had always been one of her favorite granddaughters, kind, friendly, and doing extremely well for herself in the world. "How high up in this European Union are you, my dear?" she asked as Libushe offered her the cup of tea.

"President, Grandmama, I was the president of the EU last year," she said with pride. "For half a year, according to the laws of the EU."

Babushka smiled widely. "That's my Libushe. How is tourism doing for you, my dear? I seem to recall you've recently been speaking of the advantages of tourism. I'm afraid I don't entirely understand this tourism business," she added, sipping her tea demurely. Babushka had never seen a great number of visitors to her home, but at some point, Ivan had a lot of foreign dignitaries visiting, and Libushe always seemed to have guests in her home.

"Tourism improves every year for me, and I work hard to keep it improving. Tourism is people visiting and spending a lot of money to travel and see the sights and purchase mementos to take home," she explained patiently. "I use the money I earn from tourism to improve my house and bring in more tourists."

Babushka's smile widened. "That is indeed my Libushe, making your way in the world so admirably and always working to keep things improving. I see you have resumed glassmaking, yes?" Libushe's work with glass and crystal had long been the awe of the family, and it was with Babushka's…encouragement…that her brothers and her cousins bought Czech's exquisite glass and crystal.

"Of course, Grandmama. The market for it has returned."

"I passed by St. Vitus' Cathedral on the way in, and it looks like you've just finished a touch up on St. Wenceslas' tomb. I see you've finished it, and I'll daresay it's the most beautiful and luxurious cathedral in the world. How long has it taken you to build? Six centuries now? A long time, but the patience certainly shows in the craftsmanship. Such exquisite exterior mosaics, I love the tiling on the roof, and the carvings and the stained glass are absolutely marvelous. But don't you think the reliquary for St. John of Napumu's tongue is a little overdone?" she asked, finishing her gushing compliments.

Libushe sighed. "At the time it was made, it seemed like a good idea. You have to respect a confessor who keeps his client's secrets, though I will agree that making such an elaborate small silver coffin was a bit much. The silversmiths were a trifle overenthusiastic, I fear." She paused and spoke quickly, before Babushka could ask about the mining industry. "Grandmama, it looks like you've brought quite a bit of luggage this time. Are you going somewhere for a while?"

Babushka set down her tea and sat back in her chair. "I thought it would be nice to visit your cousin Ivan for the month of December, starting next week. And I've asked the whole family to visit for the month, so we can celebrate Christmas together."

Libushe froze. _Not Ivan's dreary house!_ she thought in a mute panic. She'd spent 51 years in Ivan's cold and dilapidated house during this century, and she was in no hurry to return. "Ah, Grandmama, are you certain? Now may not be a good time, some of the others may have plans this Christmas. Like Ivan, he may be really busy," she flailed. She had politely omitted the fact that it was already December, since Babushka still stubbornly followed the Julian calendar instead of the Gregorian calendar.

"Nonsense, I'm sure they'll be pleased to clear their schedules for time to visit with their Babushka. Besides, it's been such a long time since I last visited Ivan's house. I believe it's been a century, and I do so love Ivan's house. It's so beautiful, and Ivan's masters, the Romanovs, do know how to throw the very best of parties. I'm certain it's no trouble," she asserted firmly.

Libushe inwardly winced. Ivan was not a fan of Babushka, he'd gotten rid of the Romanovs, and his house was, to not put too fine a point on it, a shambles. While Libushe wasn't particularly fond of Ivan, when she, Feliks, and Ivan had been small, the three had been rather close, and she _knew_ Ivan did not like Babushka. Babushka had installed the terror of Baba in him from a very young age, primarily because he was the eldest boy and had the biggest house and the biggest responsibilities as the head male of the Slavic family. Never mind that only Babushka or Ivan in a particularly coercive mood could unite the family. Given Ivan's state right now, Ivan was so dead meat, and he was so going to incur the wrath of Baba. Libushe almost felt sorry for him. Almost.


	2. Spreading the Word

A/N: For the vast majority of people who may be surprised, Macedonia really is a Slavic country. And the Greek Saints Cyril and Methodius developed a variation of the Greek alphabet for the Slavic languages; this language is now called Cyrillic.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. I only own Babushka Slava, the Czech Republic (Libushe), Slovakia (Zdenko), and Serbia (Slobodanka). Everything else belongs to the awesome people who created the Hetalia manga/web comic and the anime.

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The runners of the elegant troika slid smoothly over the early December snows as Natalia happily drove the troika bearing herself, Ivan, and a copy of Babushka's letter for each member of the family, which Yekaterina had made while her siblings were packing. Ivan was inevitably morosely pondering whether he could die by jumping off a moving troika into a snow bank. Determining that the snow would break his fall, he curled up into the fetal position and rooted around in his pack for the bottle of vodka he'd concealed, lest Yekaterina and Natalia find it and confiscate it on the basis that drinking was bad for him.

No such luck. Apparently, the girls had found it and confiscated it quietly. On the driver's seat, Natalia was muttering to herself.

"It's like a pre-honeymoon holiday, just the two of us, we'll introduce ourselves to everyone as fiancés, so everyone will know we're going to be married, _married_, MARRIED!" She gave a chuckle that sounded distinctly evil to poor Ivan. "I think we shall tell Feliks first," she added, in what was most definitely, to the portion of the world that was not Natalia, positively evil. Ivan, for once, actually felt sorry for Poland. It didn't last long.

Feliks was coming in from a ride on his pony when they arrived at Poland's house…which it looked like he'd been clumsily fortifying. He took one look at the pair in the troika and turned his pony to gallop for the hills between his house and Libushe's house. _Not Ivan, not Ivan, not Ivan! I am, like, so not staying in the neighborhood of Ivan!  
_

Unfortunately, Natalia whipped up the horses into a canter-gallop to pursue Feliks, not a difficult task…not when she made sure to grab the harness of the pony as they approached, haul on the reins to stop her team, and haul all three horses and the pony to a skidding halt. Feliks went flying into a snow bank, but when he got up to try to run, Natalia had already gotten aboard his pony.

As he was hauled back to the troika, Natalia pulled an exquisite letter from her coat pocket and handed it to Feliks. Anxiously, he read it, and, to Ivan's deep chagrin, Feliks smiled broadly. "Babushka's coming for Christmas? I'll, like, so be there, for sure." He paused for a moment while he and Natalia got off his pony. "Ummm…do you want me to take the news to Libushe and Zdenko? They're, like, my siblings, and, well, Libushe doesn't like Ivan a lot, you know, and Zdenko listens to what she says…" he trailed off, nervous in the presence of Ivan and Natalia, Eastern Slava's psychotic children.

"Very well, you shall do so," Natalia replied regally, handing two extra copies to him. "Oh, and tell Libushe and Zdenko that Ivan and I are getting married when Babushka comes. Yekaterina didn't add that to the letter, but she was being a good girl, making such good copies." Ivan winced as Feliks nervously smiled his congratulations, remounted his pony, and started riding hard for the mountains to Libushe's house.

* * *

The troika slid over the snow through the lands around the former Yugoslavian house, silent except for the bells jingling merrily in contrast to the mood of the two humanoid figures bundled up in furs in the troika.

Ivan had moved onto the driver's seat with his lead pipe and, for once, Natalia wasn't in the mood to enjoy it.

"We're not going to Serbia, not until we're married, _married_, MARRIED!" Belarus snapped. "Even if Babushka says she has to come."

Ivan drew himself up and the air seemed like a winter night in Siberia. "We're going to invite Slobodanka, Natalia, and I will take the reins," he said serenely, brandishing the lead pipe and taking the reins with this other hand.

"You were DATING a century ago," Natalia sulked, trying to retrieve the reins as Ivan took the turnoff that would take them directly to Slobodanka's house in short order.

"We're just friends," Ivan replied, standing up in the driver's seat as steadily as a cossack.

"Well, even if that's so, she's not getting MY Ivan. You broke up, so she can't have you back," Natalia said, sitting back, crossing her arms, and putting her booted feet against the top of the footboard.

Ivan sighed, and until they reached Serbia's rather utilitarian house, there was only the sound of the troika bells.

Slobodanka was inspecting her barn when the troika arrived. Like most of Babushka Slava's adult granddaughters, Slobodanka was a short and curvaceous woman with a bit of a forceful personality. Serbia had short hair, a heavy Soviet style coat belted around her slim waist, long trousers, old Russian peasant boots, gloves, a scarf tied and pinned neatly under the coat and around her neck, and a military officer's cap on her head. True to her style, the scarf pin was in the form of the Serbian flag, and her only visible concession to luxury and femininity was a pair of gold art nouveau hoop earrings Libushe had made for her years ago.

At the sound of troika bells, she turned around and grinned when she saw Ivan standing in the driver's seat. "Well, Comrade Ivan, that's quite an entrance, since your last visit was...hmmm, let's see...after the Second World War, when you came to bring all of us into your house." Her grin stayed, but her hazel eyes sparked with sarcasm. "So, what's the occasion?"

Ivan stepped out of the troika, bearing an invitation and handed it to her, having stopped the troika beside Slobodanka and smiled a smile touched by a kind of misery she hadn't seen in about a century, since...oh...

Serbia carefully opened the letter, recognizing all the hallmarks of Babushka Slava. When she finished reading the letter, she cheered and started laughing and dancing. "Baba is coming! Of course you're inviting all of us against your will," she cackled, as Babushka sometimes did when she saw something particularly funny, but not particularly nice.

"Are you coming?" Natalia growled from where she was sulking in the driver's seat.

"Are you kidding or diseased? Of course I'm coming to visit Babushka," Serbia said with a smile. "I was notified last, right? Great. You've got about half a week to get that plague-hole of yours cleaned up. I'd give you a hand, but you reap what you sow, and if I know Yekaterina, she's so busy cleaning up that I'd get in the way," Serbia said with a rather evil grin.

"Actually, we were going to tell Macedonia next, since we haven't found him yet," Natalia replied grouchily.

"Aleksander? He's off visiting Greece again. I swear, he only comes out of Greece's house if he's dragged kicking and screaming." Serbia sighed. "At least Baba will forgive him, since she LIKES the Greek family."


	3. Mount Baba

Yay, reviews!

Trisana Tennant: I intend to keep this going until New Year's IC. Poor Ivan indeed!

muszka: Really? Since I first typed up the first chapter, I changed around the male characters' ages a bit. Macedonia is now the eldest, on the basis that Macedonia was the kingdom of Alexander the Great. Ivan is the next oldest on the basis that the Slavic tribe is traditionally based around Kiev, a city that until very recently belonged very emphatically to Russia. Most of the ages are based on the start of a known history for what later became the countries as opposed to founding dates. But that's something interesting for me to look into while doing a bit of additional research for this fanfic. Oh, and btw, not all of the Slavic countries are siblings. I worked out siblinghood on the basis of how the Slavic language family breaks down, so Ivan has two sisters, Feliks has a pair of younger fraternal twins, and Macedonia is the eldest of eight kids. Babushka has a lot of grandkids.

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Disclaimer: I only own the following characters: Babushka Slava, the Czech Republic (Libushe), Slovakia (Zdenko), Serbia (Slobodanka), Croatia, Montenegro, Bosnia, Herzegovina, and Macedonia (Aleksander). Everything else belongs to the people who made Hetalia.

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A slough of cousins had been arriving all day in various horse-drawn vehicles. Babushka insisted that her grandchildren arrive for visits in imperial style. However, given the state of Ivan's palatial home, they'd all arrived in work clothes and brought furnishings to lend Ivan for the month out of some small sympathy and pity for him. As a result, the furnishings were mismatched and had been scrupulously covered by dust cloths while the house was scoured by 13 industrious pairs of hands.

It was sunset by the time they declared victory, washed in just above frozen water, and put on their good clothes. Babushka had stated that there WOULD be a ball tonight to welcome her, and so it was that closets in rooms untouched since the time of the Romanovs were raided for gowns, shoes, jewelry, crowns, gloves, sashes, military coats, trousers, and medals. Fortunately, they found the paintings, silver, crystal, tablecloths, furniture, and carpets for the ballroom were located in a cellar and had been arranged early in the day after cleaning the ballroom within a hair of its existence.

Libushe, as the most successful and self-sufficient granddaughter, did the final inspection, and when she was satisfied, she led the way to the foyer, where people who'd been hired for the evening announced Babushka's grand troika was approaching the front door.

Since imperial Russian gowns left the shoulders bare, the eight granddaughters retreated to the foyer, taking little Montenegro, Libushe's twin Slovakia, and their brother Feliks with them, leaving Bulgaria and Ivan at the door.

Ivan shivered, missing his warm scarf and dreading Babushka. Next to him, Borislav grinned broadly, warmed by excitement. "It's great to see her again. We've had a rather eventful century."

"Yes, I suppose we have," Ivan said with a miserable smile.

"What's got you down, Ivan? You're hosting the Winter Olympics in a few years. Babushka will just love that," Borislav added as the troika drew up to the front door.

Before Ivan could give a dejected explanation of his doom to one of Babushka's favorite grandsons, Borislav had rushed to help Babushka out of the troika and escort her to Ivan, who bowed, partially to hide the expression of terror filling his face.

"Ivan," Babushka said warmly. "You look well."

"Thank you, Babushka," he replied, doing his best to sound happy as he straightened. "Please come in," he said as he opened the door to lead her inside and slip into the crowd with the rest of the grandchildren.

Babushka stopped cold upon crossing the threshold. Bulgaria prudently took the chance to close the door. She stared. And stared. For ten full minutes, all that the 13 present grandchildren could hear as she stared and inspected with her critical eyes was the snow-laden wind, their nervous breathing, their speeding heart rates, the sound of Ivan attempting to shrink and become one with the surviving dust, and the sound of Babushka and the air around her growing to become the primevally terrifying aura of Baba Yaga, an old friend of Babushka's.

"IVAN RUSSIA BRAGINSKY!" Baba shrieked at the top of her powerful and ancient matriarchal lungs.

The sea of grandchildren parted to form a semicircle around and behind Ivan, who was trying not to huddle in the face of the Wrath of Baba while still becoming one with the air.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL OUR FAMILY HAS EVER CONSIDERED HOLY HAS HAPPENED TO YOUR HOUSE?"

"W-well, I, errr, I, errr, I…" he stuttered miserably, failing to find placating words for the events of the past century.

"He shot the Romanovs and replaced them with communism," Slobodanka interjected. The intervening five minutes of silence made the other 12 grandchildren wish Slobodanka had held her tongue.

"YOU DID WHAT?" Baba shrieked again. At this point, Libushe, Yekaterina, and Croatia, as the eldest daughters of each of Babushka's three daughters, moved to take Babushka's arms. Looking at them, Baba sighed and ceased shrieking, taking up a tone colder than a Siberian winder.

"Ivan, I thought you knew better than to get into communism," Baba said icily. "I expected my grandchildren would know better human nature and not follow Marx's foolishness."

At this point, Feliks, who was not fond of Ivan, interjected, "Ivan, like, had the rest of us join him in communism. It was so not cool." Slovakia elbowed his elder brother into silence before Mt. Baba received more explosive fuel.

Too late. "YOU DRAGGED YOUR COUSINS AND SISTERS INTO THIS FOOLISHNESS, TOO?" The three eldest girls redoubled their grip on Baba, and the three youngest, Montenegro, Bosnia, and Herzegovina, moved to cling to Baba's skirts.

Babushka glanced down at her three youngest and brought her temper back under control with the greatest of effort for the sake of Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina. "We shall have to continue this conversation after the ball, Ivan Russia Braginsky," Babushka said in a tone reminiscent of the last Ice Age in Siberia.

Ivan cringed at the thought.


	4. From Siberia, With

A/N: I decided to do this fic from Libushe's POV, for a change. Also...sorry for the long wait, school has been munching on me!  


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Disclaimer: I only own the following characters: Babushka Slava, the Czech Republic (Libushe), Slovakia (Zdenko), Serbia (Slobodanka), Croatia, Montenegro, Bosnia, Herzegovina, and Macedonia (Aleksander). Everything else belongs to the people who made Hetalia.

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I have seen many of the major events of Europe from an external position. Even in recovering from my stay in Ivan's communist home, I'd stayed one of the more independent members of the household and one of the richest as well. By the birth of the 18th century, I was easily the most atheistic country in Europe, due to having hosted the 30 Years' War.* I'd been stuck in Austria and Hungary's Austro-Hungarian house, Germany's Third Reich house, and Russia's communist house. I'd only ever hosted the 30 Years' War on my own soil, but having talked a lot with the West and the East in Europe, she had seen a great deal.

However, I'd never seen Ivan in this much trouble. Babushka's silence was mostly a case of her taking a deep breath to prepare a proper rant. It definitely did not seem it could get much worse at that point. However, even I, the most jaded member of the family, had to admit what happened next nailed Ivan's ostentatious coffin shut.

The wind slammed the doors opened and I shivered as the Arctic blast howled into the foyer. As I blinked through the swirling snow, I glimpsed a figure that had become dreaded during Ivan's communist phase, a womanly figure standing tall in classy military boots and deep furs. Siberia. Babushka's adopted granddaughter that had been put in charge of the Gulag during Ivan's communist phase. Oh, shoot. Ivan was definitely going to wish he was dead now.

Siberia's dark eyes in her moon-pale face swept the room and settled on me, Ivan, and Babushka. I smiled nervously, Ivan's smile was tinged with a manic panic, and Babushka's expression went from the Wrath of Baba to absolute grandmotherly affection and delight. I didn't bother clocking it. Babushka's mood swings had always kept the entire family on its toes since infancy and probably before.

"Babushka, I'm here," Siberia said in a sultry voice that belied the cold nature she'd adopted as the home of the Gulag. "Ivan, you look well," she continued without a hint of the deep sarcasm of the greeting. "Libushe, you are definitely looking better than the last time I saw you," she added to me, giving me a brief and honest smile. My own smile took on a relieved tinge from the honesty of her smile. The last time I'd seen her was when Ivan had sent me to the Gulag for…discipline. Fortunately, Siberia had never been the sort to hold grudges. Well, not serious ones.

Babushka stepped forward and threw her arms around our adopted cousin before Siberia could greet the rest of us and reveal too much more that would get Ivan's head ripped off. As our grandmother and our cousin swapped greetings, having not seen each other in a century or two, I turned to Ivan.

"The good news is that she doesn't know about the Gulag, Ivan," I said softly to my extremely powerful cousin. "Any idea what you're going to do when she finds out about Siberia and the Gulag?"

Ivan had no time to response before the shrieking resumed. Apparently, Babushka had gotten a straight answer out of Siberia of how the last century had been. I gulped and stepped back. While none of us liked to be in the presence of Baba, a tiny part of all the rest of us present had to strongly admit that Ivan had had this screeched lecture coming to him since the end of Romanov rule.

"Grandmama, shall we go to the Great Hall?" I suggested mildly once she took a break to take a breath.

Unfortunately, this was one of those times I should have kept my adventurous mouth shut.

"YOU! WHY DIDN'T YOU OR YEKATERINA STOP IVAN?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she addressed Yekaterina, the oldest granddaughter, and me, the most successful granddaughter. Babushka prized her granddaughters highly, so Yekaterina and I had often been scrutinized growing up.

"Well, you see, Grandmama, Yekaterina was still living with Ivan and was so busy with the harvest, you know how hardworking she is," I babbled helplessly and in a terrified state. "And, well, the rest of us have lived so long on our own and everyone in Europe was so excited about nationalism, you see, that we kinda got excited when Ivan invited the rest of us to live with him. And, well, we were too delighted to be with the most Slavic of all our male relatives to really realize what had gone wrong, and, well, once you're living under someone else's roof, you kinda follow their orders, and…well…" I trailed off, shooting Siberia a pleading look. Siberia had often been saddled with me when we were in Ivan's house. I tended to not know when to shut up when I was caught up in something.

Siberia sighed and closed her eyes, recognizing my plea. "Babushka, leave off everyone else. Nationalism was popular at the time, so they were all fantasizing about living as a family again, so when Ivan invited them to live with him, they went along with him without knowing what they were getting into. Once they were under Ivan's roof, they couldn't really argue. Libushe did, even though it was a pretty stupid thing to do, but at least she didn't stand there like an abandoned fawn."

Babushka turned to give me a look that still disturbed me, but fortunately, Siberia hadn't finished giving a progress report.

"Oh—one more thing, Ivan, Babushka, everyone: General Winter will arrive after St. Nicholas' Day to join us for the holidays." Siberia looked Babushka straight in the eyes. "General Winter and I are now dating, Babushka."

Ivan turned to flee to the vodka cellar. With the reflexes built up from having lived with Ivan, the rest of us seized him. Ivan had just been informed of his doom, and running to vodka wouldn't help. In fact, if Babushka found out about the vodka, she wouldn't let him touch vodka until after she left.

Fortunately, Babushka was congratulating Siberia on dating the one person whom Ivan dreaded, aside from Babushka, so she didn't notice the attempted flight. When Babushka turned to us to tell us that we were moving on to the Great Hall for the little ball we were hosting, Ivan was again smiling. However, I noticed that his blue eyes held an abject and childlike terror in the wake of the Wrath of Baba.

*I didn't mean to start the 30 Years' War. I'd just had a habit of choosing a new foreign boss to lead me every generation, and when Austria's Hapsburgs had blatantly ignored my policies, some of my nobility decided to defend my honor by throwing the Hapsburg governors of Bohemia out the window of the castle in Prague. It was several storeys to the ground, but the governors fortunately fell through a stable roof below the castle into a pile of horse manure and limped back to Vienna to complain. Austria was not happy that I would not live obediently and quietly in his house like a good girl.


	5. Mitteleuropaeisches Bar

A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone~! I'm in a fit of inspiration, here's hoping it lasts a while. I may take some of the ideas in this chapter and reuse them in another fic later, since Libushe and Ludwig fighting has screamingly funny possibilities.

Also...I am open to suggestions. Between major holidays in Eastern Europe for December, there'll probably be one or two filler chapters like this one...though this one ended up longer than the previous standard chapters... o.O

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Disclaimer: I only own Libushe (Czech Republic), Zdenko (Slovakia), Slobodanka (Serbia), Babushka Slava, Siberia, Aleksander (Macedonia), Croatia, Slovenia, Montenegro, Bosnia, and Herzegovina. Everyone else belongs to the awesome author of Hetalia.

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It was late at night when Ivan slipped out of the house and into his troika to go to a bar frequented by other Central and Eastern European countries when they needed a drink. He carefully removed the bells and set off, whipping the three horses into the graceful dash over the snow for which the troika was famed.

_Babushka had found the vodka cellar after dinner. That had been a disaster. She had ordered in an imperious voice for Yekaterina to give her the key. Then Babushka smiled. Then she slipped the key onto a necklace of pearls. And then she put the necklace on._

"_That's enough vodka, Ivan. You shall not have access to the vodka cellar until the New Year. Besides, Grandpa Rome sent me with some of his fine wine when I told him I was visiting everyone for the holidays. Isn't that nice?"_

Nice. Babushka called it nice. Ivan's smile was the smile of the one who would plan an unthinkable revenge on the person who'd deprived him of his vodka…if it weren't for the fact that Eastern Europe had an inborn fear-love relationship with Babushka.

He sighed, and as the breath formed eagles in the air, he heard the soft sound of bells and hooves over the snow behind him. Turning around, he recognized one of the other imperial troikas, and at the reins stood Libushe. Babushka's favorite grandchild. If it weren't for the fact that Libushe was also a drinker, Ivan would never hear the end of it. He also glimpsed a figure incredibly similar to Libushe huddled in the passenger seat in deep furs bearing a resigned look. Of course. Libushe had also brought her nice twin with her. And what Ivan meant by "nice" was "obedient and easy and even fun to bully." Surprising to the rest of the world, that usage of "nice" was the same "nice" Libushe used when referring to her twin, Zdenko, Slovakia.

Ivan reined in so his Western cousins could catch up. As the Czechoslovak cousins drew alongside him, they reined in as well. "Going to the Mitteleuropäisches Bar?" Libushe asked casually, enunciating the German perfectly.

"Yes, I am," Ivan said with a careful smile. Good thing he and Libushe both drank at the same bar.

"Well then, shall we go?" Libushe said. "Yah!" she said, flicking the reins to get her team easily moving again. Letting out a deep breath very softly, Ivan whipped his team to follow hers.

It was a quiet time at the bar, but that was no surprise, it being so deep into Advent. Only Gilbert, Ludwig, and Roderich were present, though it looked like Roderich was going light. After all, he was married. The three drinkers looked up when Libushe and Ivan entered, trailed by Zdenko.

"Evening, boys," she said warmly. "How've things been with you, lately?" She blatantly ignored Gilbert, since she still hadn't forgiven Gilbert for invading her a few centuries ago.

"Ah, Libushe, we wondered where you were," Roderich replied, his normal cordial self. "Shall I order for everyone?" Ludwig was apparently extremely interested in his beer.

"No, thank you, Roderich. Elizaveth is expecting you, right?" she replied with absolute good manners. Libushe and Roderich were still not on the best of terms since the time she'd spent in the Austro-Hungarian household. Having roughly a third of one's population decimated even after you surrendered isn't the sort of thing that gets forgiven or forgotten very quickly, for all that almost four centuries had passed.*

Roderich nodded politely and finished his drink. Leaving a tip and gathering his 18th century coat, he said, "Good evening," and disappeared into the snowy night on his white stallion.

Libushe plopped herself unceremoniously next to Ludwig and ordered a Budweiser from Plzen.** She smiled at Ludwig while Zdenko ordered a beer and Ivan ordered a whole bottle of vodka.

"Long time no talk," Libushe said to Ludwig, who was trying to use his sky blue eyes to bore a hole in his beer.

Looking up and directly into her brown eyes, he mumbled, "It has been a long time."

"The last time we talked was when your boss was threatening to send two thirds of my people into your nice little concentration camps.† The next time we could have talked was during the Velvet Revolution, but you were rather busy breaking down the Berlin Wall. Have any bits left over as souvenirs?"

Ludwig winced at the reference to the concentration camps. This century had definitely gotten him on her bad side, and he'd hoped she wasn't in the mood to bring all this up for another few decades at least. "The remnants of the Wall are in a museum at my house. You can visit and see it, if you'd like, since we're both in the European Union." He was silent a moment before he added, awkwardly, "Congratulations on being president the first half of 2009."

"Thanks, Ludwig," she said graciously.

Zdenko had been ignoring the conversation, having adopted a policy when he was very small of staying out of his twin's business. Libushe was, after all, definitely the dominant twin. However, Ivan had no problems with investigating and interfering. After all, they had been one with him about 20 years ago.

"Were you two discussing that time you nearly killed our dear Libushe, or were you discussing how much fun it was to be one with me?" Ivan said, looming over the twosome with an innocent smile that both absolutely knew was a threat to do bodily harm to Ludwig if he did anything stupid or rude. For all that Ivan was hard on those around him, he was known in Central and Eastern Europe to be homicidally protective of his family.

Quite a few phrases attempted to form in Ludwig's mind and died before they could reach his tongue. In any civilized family, a man's love-hate interest of 1200 years would not have all her relatives of either gender protecting her. Only the father or the eldest brother would be protecting her. Not so the granddaughters of Babushka Slava. As a result, situations with Libushe's family demanded delicacy. "I was congratulating her on being president of the EU for the first half of last year," he managed, omitting as much as possible.

Ivan smiled. "Is that so? My mistake, I thought the lowlife who used to torture her was thinking about torturing her again," he beamed, hefting the second bottle of vodka and his beloved lead pipe.

At that moment, Gilbert stood up, set down a tip, and headed out, swirling his red cloak around his shoulders as he disappeared into the swirling snow. Libushe subconsciously reached out for Ludwig's sleeve as Gilbert passed. Despite having often warred with Ludwig, she considered Ludwig her best friend in Central Europe. Zdenko and Feliks weren't friends, after all, they were brothers who needed frequent reminders that she was in charge of the Western Slavs as the only granddaughter on their side of the family.

Ludwig watched Libushe, blue eyes wide and observant. "You still haven't made up with Gilbert or Roderich yet, have you?" Ludwig had generally been luckier than Libushe in making friends in Europe, but Libushe was someone who had always been on his doorstep to argue with him and then later date him, long before Feliciano had started occupying his house.

"Why should I, Ludwig? Gilbert still hasn't apologized for invading me, and Roderich hasn't apologized for having his 30 Years' War at my house," she sulked.

"Oh, that's right," Ludwig replied awkwardly. Then a question occurred to him through his nearly beer-clogged mind, a question he wanted to ask before he and Libushe started really drinking and getting strange. "Ivan, what brings you here? I thought I heard you had your own vodka cellar," he added carefully.

Ivan's smile didn't fade, but still took on a sinister look. "Would you like to rejoin me, Ludwig? There's always space for all of us in my house," he added expansively. Ludwig and Libushe winced, while Zdenko's eyes flicked up to Ivan, momentarily interested in the proposition before he remembered that Libushe wouldn't let him.

"Our Babushka's visiting Ivan for the entire month starting today and all of the family is staying in Ivan's house." Libushe sat back on her bar stool. "Babushka's still using the Julian calendar, which is why she arrived after St. Lucia's Day. Are your brothers still nursing hangovers?"

"Yes, they are," Ludwig said, looking away. "I've never met your Babushka. Is she nice? She's probably friendlier than Grandpa Germania."

Zdenko and Ivan choked on their drinks and Libushe took a swig of her beer before responding. "You have no idea."

"Could I…that is…could I and some of the other countries visit you sometime?" Ludwig asked tentatively.

*The Kingdom of Bohemia, as the Czech Republic was called before the end of WWII, lost about a third of its population due to hosting the 30 Years' War in the 17th century.

**Budweiser beer is actually made from a recipe kept by monks in Budejovice in the Czech Republic. It is possible for connoisseurs to buy Budweiser beer brewed in the Czech Republic, for the curious who are allowed to drink.

†Nazi Germany had filed 2/3 of the entire population of the Kingdom of Bohemia under those who would go to the death, concentration, or labor camps by the time the Allies liberated her. If she hadn't been liberated, Bohemia would have lost 2/3 of her population.


	6. Bald sind Gaeste da

A/N: Until I'm done with the next arc of this fun December, please feel free to post suggestions for chapters between the major holidays. Oh, and please do R&R, I'd love to see how people like this story and what suggestions people have for me to improve my writing. In the meantime, enjoy.

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Disclaimer: I only own Libushe (Czech Republic), Zdenko (Slovakia), Slobodanka (Serbia), Babushka Slava, Siberia, Aleksander (Macedonia), Croatia, Slovenia, Montenegro, Bosnia, and Herzegovina. Everyone else belongs to the awesome author of Hetalia.

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The only ones up at dawn on December 6th (December 21st, according to the Gregorian calendar) were Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina. The morning couldn't come soon enough for them, and dawn was a long wait in Russia. They'd been pattering around barefoot since about four in the morning and had to be herded back to bed a few times by Bulgaria, the only present good-natured Southern Slavic nature. They giggled once Bulgaria gave in and let them attack their shoes. Candies and small, intricate, handmade toys emerged from their small shoes, shining in the holiday candlelight Babushka had insisted upon for the duration of her stay. It wasn't long before the girls, Bosnia and Herzegovina, were playing with their dolls, and Montenegro was toying with wooden soldiers.

Ivan was also up early, as he was still looking for a way to sneak out before General Winter arrived. Considering that Babushka was also an early riser and had been up since long before anyone older than Montenegro, the world's largest nation had staged 14 failed escape attempts and still was not deterred. Cellars, tunnels, ships, and airplanes had failed. Sneaking out on a neglected horse no one cared about hadn't worked, either. Neither had trying to slip out with the night staff of his house.

Sitting in a plain wooden chair as he plotted the fifteenth escape attempt, he watched the youngest members of the family play with their toys. Ivan smiled. He'd give them toys all the time, once they were once again one with him. The thought of them becoming one with him took his mind off his boot from this morning.

That had not been a good start to the day. Oh, he'd found candy, all right, just like the rest of Babushka's beloved grandchildren. It just happened to be the type of chocolate he disliked (milk) and it also included the one thing any Eastern or Central European child dreaded finding in their shoe on this morning: bones. And not bones that could be cooked in hard times, oh nyet, these were the bones of people. It had to be Babushka's idea of a humorous punishment. Ivan had skeletons in the closet, so she'd given him parts of human skeletons. Unfortunately, the day could be worse than finding bones in your boot on St. Nicholas' Day and General Winter arriving to spend the next 25 days with you.

Libushe stormed down the grand staircase into the ballroom, carrying a tracking device. "IVAN, HAVEN'T I TOLD YOU TO NOT TAG MY STUFF?" she called. Angrily, she threw it to the floor, and would have stomped on it if not for the fact that it was St. Nicholas' Day, and she would never try something like that in range of Babushka.

Babushka turned happy grandmotherly eyes on her littlest grandchildren to frozen Baba eyes on her second eldest grandson. A tic appeared in her temple, but she still smiled, in an expression the rest of the world recognized as Russia's dark smile, only worse. The air turned as cold as the frozen tundra during a winter night and the room seemed as dark as such a night, too. Ivan shrank back subconsciously in response, the primal terror of Baba ruling his muscles. They then flicked to happy grandmother when looking at his wealthy cousin. There was no sign of the tic or the cold, dark air from a moment ago. "Bohemia, dear, why don't you go have a look at your boots?" Babushka still often referred to the Czech Republic by her old name.

As Bohemia moved to scoop up her boots by the hearth, Ivan replied in an attempt to placate his cousin, "I just wanted to make sure that jerk Germany wasn't doing anything bad to you." Despite the fact that he continued to smile, his smile wasn't the normal pleasant affability or the normal dark smile of doom, but instead the internationally unheard of stressed and worried smile of someone whose very existence depends on the victim not ratting a nervous and slightly panicky criminal out to the imposing judge.

"I can take care of myself, Ivan Russia Braginsky," the Central European nation responded in a short tone. "Shouldn't you be worrying about Babushka and General Winter?" she asked in a sweeter tone that promised misery and a proper ratting out. The attempts to placate Bohemia were clearly in vain.

Ivan almost flinched at the reference to both. While it was true that he was doing a lot of spying on Bohemia these days and that inevitably always made her mad, it also made sure no one tried to hurt her, and meant that there was still hope she'd become one with him again someday.

Babushka was quietly fuming. "Ivan, dear, is it true that you've been SPYING on your good cousin?" she asked in a deceptively grandmotherly tone as Bohemia delicately removed the candies from her classy boots. No bones, just candies were in Bohemia's boots. Including her favorite sort of chocolate. Meanwhile, the air began to freeze and darken again. Ivan could almost see the snow. Beside her, Bohemia cheerfully began playing with the three youngest and the childlike laughter coming from them sounded distant and bright. Despite Libushe being much older than the youngest Slavic nations, she wasn't much taller than them.

As the former Soviet Union babbled in an attempt to construct an acceptable answer, a nondescript figure came in carrying a fierce-looking golden eagle with a vellum scroll tied to one leg with a simple leather thong without the slightest extraneous detail to it, like decoration. As the servant came to a halt, the eagle imperiously but graciously proffered the leg with the scroll attached to it. Babushka accepted the scroll when offered by the eagle and read it carefully, briefly donning reading glasses. Bohemia walked around to peer over Babushka's shoulder and then her face took on a complex expression.

Ivan watched carefully. Babushka was smiling, Libushe was not. From Ivan's spying, this very likely meant one of the other Grandparents had contacted Babushka, and not one that the only lady in Central Europe was fond of. Libushe didn't have anything against any of the Grandparents, so which family would result in that expression? That style of parchment looked familiar, like it had spent too much time being frozen and then gotten too close to a cooking fire. It crackled noisily and looked brittle.

"Ivan, could you put together a feast for today?" Babushka asked eagerly as Bohemia discreetly thanked the person who'd brought in the eagle, who mantled as the servant walked away.

"Why?" Russia said, easily keeping some measure of composure while pondering the question. Had Ivan not been so deeply contemplating the question, he would have noticed all the little signs that would give the answer away. Babushka wasn't particularly friendly with the other Grandparents because her dreadful old house had been so isolated.

"Germania and his dear grandsons are celebrating St. Nicholas' Day with us today."

Ivan's day had just gotten worse, though not nearly as bad as the day would prove for Germany, Austria, and Prussia.


	7. Grandfather's Dragon Ship

cosmicmaiden: Lulz, you got me. Babushka is based rather heavily on a couple of figures: Baba Yaga and my Czechoslovak grandmother, who's normally the nicest, friendliest grandmother anywhere, but she is not one to let a good argument on politics, government, morality, religion, and a number of other topics pass her by.

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A/N: I only own Czech, Slovak, Serbia, Babushka, Siberia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, Macedonia, Croatia, and Slovenia. Everything else belongs to the awesome author of Hetalia

And this also marks a brief Germany POV...and some fuuun for the Germanic countries. If you ask nicely, I'll explore the Germanic family in another fic.

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Germany opened his turquoise eyes to a very disturbing sight. It was too damn early to be awake at this time of year. It was clearly the middle of the night. What was happening to him had to be a dream. There was no way that an old nation with a face similar to the Germanic nations dressed like an elf from those recent Lord of the Rings films was standing imposingly and expectantly above him.

Germany shut his eyes and then cracked them open. He proceeded to pinch himself. OK, so not asleep. That meant he wasn't dreaming. Which left one frightening possibility. One of the Grandparents had snuck into his room. As though Grandpa Rome hadn't been disturbing enough to wake up to the one time he could remember meeting Grandpa Rome properly.

"You're…one of the Grandparents…right?" he asked, still faintly hoping this was all a very bad dream.

There was a very deep silence that felt strangely familiar to Ludwig, though it was as irritating not recognizing this nation as this nation having snuck into his room. "You don't remember me," the older nation stated in a deep voice devoid of emotion.

"Sorry, I don't know you," the Germanic nation said, feeling a twinge of guilt when this nation seemed to know him.

The older nation grunted. "Come on, boy, we're going," was all the older nation said, gesturing tersely for Germany tot follow him.

Germany sighed. Obedience to greater powers had been thumped into him at some point in time he couldn't recall, and the Grandparents were clearly the greater power than him. Getting up, he pulled on some warm clothes, since it was cold, even with the heater on.

The old nation stood at the door carrying a heavy pile of furs, a pair of scarves, and two pairs of warm gloves. The Central European nation stared. "Excuse me, but where are we going?"

The old nation gave him a long look. "We're sailing east, boy."

Sighing, he accepted the offered gloves and scarf. When it got to the dark, heavy furs, it turned out that two warm fur cloaks were what the quiet Grandparent had been carrying. Something whispered softly in Germany's mind that this meant that they were going somewhere very cold and the elder nation didn't want him to freeze. Nodding his thanks politely, he wrapped the cloak around himself and followed the terse nation out to a dock Germany had built that summer. Docked there was a ship that felt very familiar, in a way that was neither ominous nor pleasant.

It was a dragon ship, in the sense that this was the dragon ship that every dragon ship since had been clearly trying to mimic. Long and lean with an exquisitely carved dragon head, she cut a powerful figure. The paint on the figurehead showed signs of scrupulous upkeep, as did the ropes and the elegant striped sail. It was also clear that a lot of craftsmanship had gone into the ship over centuries, as the whole ship was painstakingly carven with animal shapes, wolves and ravens and dragons and bears.

Ludwig couldn't help but stare in awe, but it didn't last long. Strong arms attacked with the potential interest in throttling him. "Looks like we're all here!" boomed a Nordic voice in Germany's Continental ears. Ludwig groaned inwardly. Denmark. The enthusiast of the Nordic nations. Behind him, Germany heard familiar barks.

Squirming free, he turned to see that Blackie, Berlitz and Auster sat obediently behind them, having followed their master onto the ship. Their tongues lolled, almost as if to make up for the stereotypical lack of a sense of humor in their master. As he tried to figure out how to tell the dogs to go home, he realized that it was too late. The dragon ship had already set sail.

Groaning softly, Ludwig turned back to the tallest of the Nordics. "Do you understand what's going on?" he asked, still hoping this might be a very bad dream.

"The Grandfather who abducted us from our homes so rudely is our Grandpa Germania," Austria said stiffly from where he sat sipping a cup of coffee delicately.

Ludwig stared at Roderich in consternation. "Our…our grandfather?" he asked weakly. Oh, no…strange memories felt like they were trying to come back…and he was getting a headache from this. Must be the excitement.

"Oh, yeeesss. Do you have a headache? It's probably rather hard to take this news right now, since Prussia and I were the only ones in our generation who managed to avoid amnesia," Austria responded. "Care for a cup of coffee? Or maybe some Bach?"

Germany looked up and spotted a grand piano that had been hauled onto the ship. Of course Austria had brought his beloved instrument with him. "Where's Erizabet tonight?" Germany asked awkwardly, not sure how to take this and still strongly hoping this was all a bad dream.

Austria turned away from Ludwig to the piano. Stretching his fingers, he broke into a piece in the minor key that obviously reflected frustration and longing. Ah. He missed her and hadn't been allowed to bring her along.

Ludwig sighed and looked around to see who else had been abducted. Him, Austria, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Iceland, Holland, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg, Belgium, Switzerland, and Prussia. All the Germanic nations had been abducted. He didn't have much time to reflect on this conjuction, since Germania's deep voice boomed out over the ship.

"Boys! Take an oar and start rowing," he called out, moving to the tiller and taking a seat on a rough bench. "Girls, take the drums!" Austria sulked as everyone moved automatically to their posts.

"Can we sing as we row, Grandpa?" Denmark asked, setting down his battle ax.

"Do you have something in mind?" their Grandfather asked in a softer voice.

"This is something I heard recently. It goes like this:

"_It's your birthday! Happy birthday!_

_May the candles on your cake_

_Burn like cities in your wake_

_On your birthday! Happy birthday!_

_It's your birthday! Happy birthday!_

_Storm the castle, burn the keep,_

_Kill them all, but save the SHEEP~!_

_On your birthday! Happy birthday…"_

Austria banged his head on his oar and clenched his fists. Holland ground his teeth. Prussia grinned broadly. The other Nordics smiled. There was even the twitch of the forerunner of a smile on Grandpa Germania's face. Ludwig winced. This was going to be a long row to their destination…which appeared to be in the direction of Russia's frozen mansion…


	8. The Two Families

akane sarumara: Please tell me when you write that fic; I'd be amused and delighted to meet Hungary, Finland, and Estonia's family.

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A/N: I only own Babushka, Czech, Slovakia, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Montenegro, Bulgaria, Croatia, Serbia, Slovenia, Siberia, Macedonia, and Bohemia's lion. Everything else belongs to the creator of Hetalia.

Sorry this is a short chapter, but the ending will hopefully make up for it and prove that Russia isn't the only one to feel Babushka's wrath. Sit tight til I finish finals, and please R&R. ^^

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Everyone was gathered on the river dock on Ivan's vast estate. The frozen nation was deeply displeased about standing out here on what most of the family defined as the winter solstice, waiting for Grandpa Germania to arrive with his fierce grandchildren. The wind bit through the heavy Soviet coat Ivan insisted on wearing, but the rest of the Slavic clan had opted for various fur-lined coats, and it was easy to identify who was who in the heavy bundles.

Bohemia was wearing a fashionable coat she must have gotten off France; only France would design something stylish and only Bohemia was really good friends with France, Britain, America, and Israel. Standing next to her had to be Slovakia, in a very plain Soviet coat lined with fur; trust Slovakia to go with a cheap, but practical option. The really girly coat was Poland; Poland…was Poland, who knew why, but it was probably because his mother, Western Slava, had been a bit of a feminist.

Serbia, Croatia, and Slovenia all wore army coats lined with fur; being forced into forming Yugoslavia had made them bitter and ferociously nationalistic. Montenegro was also wearing an army coat, but it was because he valued his nationalism for a different reason; establishing a house independent from his three older sisters had been very high on his priority list. Bulgaria had also opted for something in fashion, but it looked more like a business coat, classic and in place in the capitalist world. Bosnia and Herzegovina had abandoned the old Yugoslavian coats that their three older sisters had grudgingly agreed on for old style Slavic peasant coats brought by Babushka; they dearly loved their Babushka and feared their sisters, Serbia, Croatia, and Slovenia.

Belarus was wearing a Soviet coat as well, with a disturbing ferocity and attachment. Ukraine also wore a Soviet coat, but it was a cheap and readily available style for her, so she was happy. Siberia was wearing a reindeer-pelt coat lined with thick fur, and succeeded in looking as dignified as a duchess in the primeval coat. Babushka wore a fur-lined capelet over a fur-lined coat in style in the Romanov court.

It was the three youngest who spotted the dragon ship first and started cheering and dancing. Ivan redoubled his grip on his lead pipe, and his smile turned Arctic. As long as Babushka was watching, he'd behave, but the former Soviet state was not about to let the ones who'd abused the Western Slavs go unpunished.

Bohemia's lion had arrived late the night before and sat obediently in the snow, his white pelt almost matching the snow. He growled and the hackles rose a little bit as the dragon ship approached the icy dock. For once, Ivan sympathized with the split-tailed beast.

As the ship arrived and was tied down, a fur-cloaked figure that was almost Germany's twin stood up from his seat at the tiller. Three blonde girls set down drumsticks and brunette Hungary stood next to a grand piano. There were dogs barking and a rather…Viking…song drew to a close from the oars.

Grandpa Germania leaped off the ship and strode stiffly to Babushka. The Grandfather leaned forward and briefly kissed the cheeks of the Grandmother, who smiled. "How are you, Germania? How was the voyage? Not too difficult, I trust?"

"It was a good day," Germania said tersely. Behind him, three fur-cloaked women, Hungary, and nine fur-cloaked men disembarked, most of them stretching their arms painfully. "My grandchildren, and Austria's wife," he added, by way of an introduction.

Babushka nodded her head and almost imperiously gestured for her grandchildren to follow suit. Germania twitched a hand and his twelve biological grandchildren bowed and curtsied in military fashion.

Germania offered an arm to Babushka, who accepted, and they began to walk toward the house. The various grandchildren fell into some semblance of order behind them: Austria with Hungary; Bosnia, Herzegovina, and Montenegro at their grandmother's heels; Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and Iceland joking together; Switzerland guiding Liechtenstein; Serbia, Slovenia, and Croatia together with their hands reaching for where their weapons normally were; Poland, Slovakia, and Bulgaria staying out of the way of the women; Holland, Belgium, and Luxembourg striding together, all very tall; Ukraine keeping the peace between Serbia, Slovenia, and Croatia; Prussia attempting to bug Hungary and successfully bugging Austria; Bohemia in awkward silence with Germany; and Belarus clinging to Russia, who trailed miserably behind everyone else.

Siberia remained at the dock. As Ivan turned to urge her back to the palace, she shook her head. "I will wait for General Winter, and we shall join you when he arrives." Ivan shuddered and returned to following the rest of the two families back to the palace.

Ivan and Natalia arrived back last, and as they shut the aging double doors, they could hear Prussia stepping almost deliberately on the Bohemia-Germany bomb.

"Libushe, when was the last time you went on a date with Ludwig? It's not like you two have anything to do in the evenings."

The entire clan flinched, except Czech, Germany, and the Grandparents, though Czech was shooting Gilbert a look that said she'd be interested in hijacking a plane to personally bomb him.

Babushka stared. "You're dating Germany? That's wonderful, Libushe, dear, but why didn't you tell me? And when are you getting married? I do so want to see the wedding." Beside her, Germania was quietly smiling with pride at his favorite grandson.

The silence following felt like an eternity in which a bouquet of crystal roses could shatter and the sound of every miniscule shard could be heard.

Ludwig cleared his throat awkwardly. "What is everyone talking about?"


	9. Engaged?

A/N: I only own Babushka, Czech, Slovakia, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Montenegro, Bulgaria, Croatia, Serbia, Slovenia, Siberia, Macedonia, and Bohemia's lion. Everything else belongs to the creator of Hetalia.

Pardon any OOC-ness on Hungary's part. I need to go back and refamiliarize myself with Hungary.

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Silence reigned supreme over both families as all eyes turned to Germania's favorite grandson. Everyone who'd known of the engagement, except for Austria and Prussia, didn't know what to say for five full minutes. Of Germany's two older brothers, Austria had the good graces to look embarrassed, and Prussia, sensing he'd stepped on a bomb of some sort, very quickly looked away. The only eyes on either brother were Hungary's eyes, who looked at her husband with surprise, and the youngest brother, who had never in 1200 years heard about the arrangement.

He cleared his throat nervously. "What's everyone talking about?"

Libushe put a hand on her face for a moment before speaking. "Looks like your brothers never told you. Ludwig, back when you were known as the Holy Roman Empire and I was called Bohemia, about 1200 years ago, Austria arranged for us to get engaged. You sent a relic of one of your favorite saints to me as a gesture of good will." Her brown eyes bored into his sky-hued ones, willing him to remember.

"Errr…I only vaguely remember sending you the finger of St. Vitus, but I don't remember the engagement," the Teutonic nation said, blushing and wishing he could die of growing embarrassment on the spot. "Sorry," he added, guiltily.

Hungary was still watching her husband. "Roderich? Didn't you tell Ludwig he was engaged to Bohemia? After all, you did go to so much care and effort into making her into a perfect bride for him, and you encouraged her to work so hard to suit him."

The normally dignified nation appeared to be willing himself to not attract the attention of Grandpa Germania, whose light eyes were starting to go hard.

However, there was a vicious chill settling over the grand ballroom in which the two families now stood, and it wasn't a chill that Russia could produce. It was the violent chill that had handily beaten Napoleon and Hitler's armies in the dead of winter, it was the spine-chilling darkness of a night filled with legions of monsters and the undead bent on devouring humanity, and it was a familiar and terrifying rage to all members of the Slavic family, all of whom attempted to adopt the fetal position.

Babushka was going Baba on Austria, who had admitted guilt, and Prussia, whose guilt had been heavily implied. The ancestral mother of the Slavs drew in a deep breath, bearing the silence of the countryside before a violent raid by Cossacks. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"

For the first time that the Teutonic nations could recall, they sympathized with the Slavic nations and were all looking for a bunker to hide behind instead of facing the enemy head on, as their Grandpa had always drilled them to do. What made this worse was the tall, imposing shadow of the ancestral Teuton next to her, his face shifting through the cloudy shades between sunshine smiling down on a summer wedding and thunderstorm shredding a fleet of longships.

Unfortunately, Germania's three favorite grandsons were bearing the brunt of the combined thunderstorm and dark winter night. Austria was in particular put on the spot. "Well, I did mean to tell Ludwig of the arrangement, at some point, when I thought it was a good time to arrange a wedding, but you two know Germany and Czech, he's usually busy working and she's usually in her ivory tower, nothing wrong with that, but then Protestantism came along, then a number of revolutions of peasants against their kings, then the Industrial Revolution, and before we knew it, it was the World Wars, and suddenly there was no real time to tell them anymore," the cultured nation said very quickly, trying to maintain a modicum of dignity and the appearance of upright moral behavior, if not the real thing.

While the Teutonic thunderstorm seemed to be abating for the time being, a nation-killing frost was settling around the world, courtesy of Baba. "There is still no excuse for not telling him when you clearly found time to tell her. Your account also fails to explain why my Libushe never told me she was engaged." Sabers were being sharpened with the edge of her voice.

Roderich could tell he was in trouble now, and he was almost out of explanations. "Well, there was the matter that the Holy Roman Empire was largely made up of independent princes and was not unified, so he was certainly not as ready as she was to know of the engagement, and he could not have really been supportive until the latter half of the 19th century, when both were very, very busy with the Industrial Revolution and then the world wars." Sweat would be beading on his forehead, if not for the temperature in the room having nearly achieved freezing.

It was at this moment, Hungary decided to step in and save her husband. She could find a way for Prussia to fry later. "All of that's in the past, and since they both know it and don't have any objections any of us know of, they could get married later, say, this spring?" she asked Baba, seeking to placate the force of grandparental nature.

It worked. The winter night immediately thawed to a golden summer day. "Well, that is true. We'll have to start planning the wedding right away. After all, they've been engaged for 1200 years, so it is high time they got properly married, wouldn't you agree, Germania?"

Germania's eyes hinted at a smile as the thunderstorm melted away into an approving nod and sunshine. "They should."

"No!" Bohemia said quickly.

Everyone stared at her.

"Well, Ludwig didn't know until just now that we've been engaged, so it's not really right that we get married when he just found out," the cleverest Slavic nation flailed, most definitely not being ready to marry the Teutonic nation, not when almost every person alive in her nation detested Germans to the core and she had so recently stopped the cycle of getting hurt by her neighbor/fiancé.

Babushka was, unfortunately, not entirely deterred. "Whyever not, dear? You two are such a fine couple, and have been together so long!"

Bohemia gulped. "Well…we could…errr…we could…date…I mean, Ludwig and I haven't even dated each other, and, like Roderich said, we've been way too busy the last 1200 years to spend time getting to know each other, so we should have more time before we take that sort of a step, don't you agree?" the nation with one of the world's more renowned air forces suggested helplessly.

"You're right. Dating would be sufficient, we're just so happy for our favorite grandchildren, aren't we, Germania? So happy. So, let us proceed to celebrate St. Nicholas' Day together!"

As she walked away and Libushe heaved a sigh of relief, Serbia stepped up behind her and took her by the shoulder. "Good thing they still don't know what Germany's boss did to you during World War II and they don't know what Austria's Hapsburgs did to you, either, or Babushka'd throw the biggest fit in the world."

"Yeah, lucky," Serbia's favorite cousin grumbled halfheartedly.

"You're not serious about dating him, are you? After all, you had the worst engagement we knew of, and you were so bad off you would have counted it a blessing to get the short end of the stick. If your people weren't atheists, they'd think Ludwig was the devil incarnate."

The Central European nation's eyes flicked over to where the Teutonic nation was getting mobbed by his own family and rested on him for a moment. "It's not as though I dislike him. I object to his brothers, and my people object to him, but I don't personally hate Germany." She didn't say anything further on the matter for the rest of the visit, though one late arrival who had slipped in very quietly during the conversation and brought his own patch of winter with him, guessed that there were things his lady's cousin wasn't saying and wouldn't say to anyone but Germany. And saying it to Germany was her own business, and no one else's.

* * *

A/N: For anyone who's curious, the relationship between the Czech Republic and Germany has existed for 1200 years, since a German prince decided to ally his region with the Czechs by sending them a fingerbone of one of Germany's favorite saints, St. Vitus. The relationship continued for centuries in trade, education, language, and a variety of other means. Ironically, the Czechs have been doing a lot more to enrich the relationship than the Germans. In the last four centuries, the Czech opinion of Germans plummeted from a combination of the 30 Years' War (they lost a full third of the population), the German unification (one third of the population of Bohemia was ethnic German until the end of WWII, and the Sudetenlanders wanted the Czechs to help with unification, despite apathy from the Czechs on the matter), and both World Wars (sold by England to Hitler, who planned to exterminate 2/3 of the Czech Republic alone, being ruled by the head of the Gestapo, whom they later successfully assassinated...the list goes on). Surprising what a few major wars can do, especially when only the last one involved the Germans directly doing something to the Czechs. All of the rest of the wars the Czechs blamed the Germans for were cases where poor Ludwig was clueless he was doing anything to Libuse and wasn't even actually doing anything to her...


	10. Ivan and the Wolf

Here's a longer chapter for everyone still following this, and we will now resume our official program of Russia torture. Enjoy, and please R&R!

A/N: I own only Babushka, Bohemia, Slovakia (Zdenko), Bosnia, Herzegovina, Montenegro (Davor), Serbia (Slobodanka), Bulgaria (Borislav), Croatia (Vjekoslava), Slovenia (Ljudmila), Macedonia (Aleksander), and Siberia. Peter and the Wolf belongs to Prokofiev (or his estate). The rest of Hetalia belongs to its creator, not to me.

* * *

It had been almost a week since Grandpa Germania had brought his grandsons to visit, and the five days since had been relatively quiet. It was now, according to Babushka, December 11th, and December 26th, according to everyone else. However, it was not in the cards for today to be peaceful. After all, according to the grandkids, they'd just missed Christmas and wouldn't celebrate for another two and a half weeks, and they had another three and a half weeks together as a family, much to their private chagrin.

It was midafternoon, and the family had cleared out a spacious living room of sorts with a grandiose fireplace carved from marble in the classical style. Ivan would have shut the door and ushered everyone else into another room, if Babushka hadn't immediately entered and settled herself in a red plush and gilt chair, sweeping her long skirts neatly so the folds fell straight and proper. Ivan's smile was frosty as he smiled at the three youngest, who'd dragooned him (with Babushka's support) into playing with them by making them model horses and troikas. Bosnia, Herzegovina, and Montenegro were too sensible of the ways of all the older siblings and cousins to complain about the quality of the new toys.

It was at this juncture that a Russian entered the room after knocking politely (and nervously, as Babushka had been rather firm with the Russians about good manners). Meeting Babushka's dark eyes for one terrifying instant, he quickly bowed, and mumbled, "The nations of Canada, America, France, Britain, China, Italy, and the Baltic states." He stepped aside as a crew of nations entered. Ivan attempted to flee from a window, but Serbia prudently gripped his coat to dissuade him from escaping.

"Hello, everyone!" America called out cheerfully. The other countries behind America flinched or sighed.

Babushka rose gracefully and stood, fully erect. "Ah, it is a pleasure to see everyone." She looked at the nations as they slowly spilled across the threshold. "Veneziano, how are you and Romano? Britain, is your royal family still doing well? France, dear, as charming as ever. China, it's been so long!" Finally, she looked at America, habitually ignoring the Baltic states and not noticing Canada. "Little America, yes? You've grown quite a bit since last I saw you, I believe it was on your Western Coast."

Italy smiled happily. "He's doing fine." Britain nodded. "Quite well, thank you." France smiled his most dazzling smile and offered a bouquet of roses to Babushka. He'd heard from Ludwig that Babushka was back in town, and he'd always got on swimmingly with her. China bowed, slightly uncertain: Babushka was a Grandmother, so demanded obedience, but he'd been encouraged to ignore cultural histories. Canada and the Baltics weren't deeply disappointed by being ignored. America, however, was delighted at being remembered. "Yes, it has been a while, but I'm doing very well for myself," he said with a laugh that made Ivan want to throttle him, cold war principles of not bombing the other just barely keeping him from homicide.

"Come in, everyone!" Babushka said gaily. "Ivan, Feliks, Borislav, Zdenko, Davor, would you boys be so good as to bring more chairs for our guests?" The boys filed out, obedient to the one will that had always terrorized the winter nation.

It was another ten minutes before everyone was settled in chairs, when Babushka suddenly decided pillows and possibly blankets should be fetched, sending her five present grandsons on another mission that took an additional fifteen minutes. Finally, everyone was resettled around the fireplace, with Babushka at the heart of it all. Something about Babushka must have affected the furniture, because her regal chair now had rockers and a high back. Gentle motions of her legs kept the chair in a sedate, almost hypnotic motion that was certainly subconscious from her expression.

"Why haven't we met you before?" Alfred asked after a few minutes.

"I have been traveling. As much as I love all my dear grandchildren, they do have things they need to do, and I do love seeing the world and visiting the other Grandparents." She smiled, reminiscing.

"What were the Slavic nations like as children?" Canada asked. Babushka looked around for a while before she realized he was sitting unnoticed next to Ukraine, in a way that suggested that her dear Yekaterina and this young nation were in love. "You are Canada, yes? My dear grandchildren were good children. It was almost always winter in the forests where we lived, so it was very cold. Their mothers traveled a great deal from before their children were born, so I had the care of them while they were away. They played outside a great deal."

"Weren't you worried about wolves?" Arthur asked in a puzzled tone. He'd always had a good impression of Ivan's Babushka, but hearing they played outside in a winter forest growing up worried him.

"Ohhh, yes, I was. Winters were so long that the wolves were rarely selective about what they chose to eat. In fact, I remember one winter where little Ivan decided to go wolf hunting."

Ivan attempted to flee at that point. _Not Ivan and the Wolf, not Ivan and the Wolf, not Ivan and the Wolf!_ However, one of his clever cousins or sisters had wisely barred the window, and Feliks, Zdenko, and Borislav had been moved to sit in front of the window, with Vjekoslava, Ljudmila, and Slobodanka sitting near the door to catch any attempt to escape using the door. How had Babushka latched onto the one living room with no secret passages?

Babushka was still speaking, apparently not having noticed that the Soviet nation was trying to make a run for it. "We've told the story so often we call it Ivan and the Wolf. I believe I've heard that Prokofiev composed music to accompany the story."

The United States looked at her in confusion. "Eh? I thought the story was called Peter and the Wolf?" The United Kingdom elbowed his little brother in the ribs to silence him so they could hear a good story.

Babushka laughed. "Oh, it is, but its proper name is Ivan and the Wolf."

Everyone settled down, prepared to listen to the story.

_One cold and cruel winter, a wolf started hunting near our house, a humble house in the forest on chicken legs with a fence of bones._

The Slavic nations shivered. The room was cooling off in response to the story, but their shiver was in response to the reminder of their childhood. It had been spent in Baba's cottage, a place of magic of the kind that you always dreaded, no matter how benign it actually was.

Alfred looked surprised. He'd heard of this place as Baba Yaga's hut, but he hadn't realized the Slavic nations had grown up there.

_Ivan's older cousin Aleksander had been living for a long time with Greece, making Ivan the little man of the house. Hearing of the wolf, he wanted to go hunt it down. I was most against it and forbade the children from playing beyond the fence of bones, and knew quite a bit more about this wolf than Ivan did. It was General Winter, bringing us a notably harsh winter, but he had no intention of eating the children unless they chose to interfere. My orders were to prevent the children from crossing his path before they understood the world well enough to take care of themselves._

_Ivan, Ivan, Ivan. You didn't listen to me. You took your little spear and went out to hunt the wolf. His sisters were spending time with their mother in a mother-daughters activity, and he had waited until I had my afternoon nap to sneak out the door with his spear in hand. I had caught him sneaking out once already that morning, but I was most displeased when I awoke to find that he and three of his cousins had left on this foolish mission._

_It was a fortunate thing that almost all of my grandchildren had decided to stay indoors that afternoon. However, Libushe and Feliks were playing outside, as was Slobodanka._

_Libushe was the first to see that Ivan was leaving and offered to go with him as a scout. She did take a spear, just in case, but without an intent to use it. Before they'd left the clearing, they heard snow crunching behind them. Turning around with worry, they were relieved to find Feliks trailing them, carrying his toy pony. By the time they reached the next clearing, Slobodanka had caught up to them with her own spear. She and Libushe argued for a few minutes over who would scout and who would watch Feliks, but Ivan moved on, causing them to stop arguing and hurry to rejoin him._

_It was not an hour into their little hunt when their path finally crossed General Winter's path. Slobodanka saw him first and panicked, having never met him before. Feliks only panicked when General Winter raised a paw to him. Ivan attempted to attack him with his spear when Feliks fainted from terror, but only angered General Winter, who would have chased him if Feliks hadn't recovered and made a run for it._

_It seemed no more than a moment before General Winter returned carrying Feliks' toy pony. Libushe has always taken the very best care of her brothers, so attacked the apparent murderer of her elder brother with her little spear. Surprised, the wolf was driven back for a time, until he got over his surprise. Libushe ran very fast and harried him at every opportunity._

_In the meantime, Slobodanka and Ivan had gotten behind General Winter and mounted a rear attack with their spears. Distracted, the wolf attacked his two new little attackers and soon gained the upper hand._

_Libushe had slipped into the trees and heard the crunch of three pairs of boots in the snow and women's conversation. Yekaterina, Natalia, and their mother Kievan Rus were returning. By the time she got them and took them to save Ivan and Slobodanka, all that they found of the twosome was Ivan's scarf and Slobodanka's spear._

_Then Ivan called down to his sisters, mother, and cousin, showing General Winter, bound and quite irritated. The family carried General Winter bound hand and foot back toward the cottage to show me. We celebrated, after I sent Ivan to cut firewood in the Far Woodpile, which was in the thickest part of the forest._

_Libushe came back late. She had wanted to give her fallen older brother a little memorial service and monument. As she sat before the snowman sculpted to look like Feliks, who should breathe over her shoulder but her elder brother Feliks? Happy and safe, they returned home, where we celebrated the victory over General Winter as a family._

As the tale drew to a close, everyone sighed, delighted at the happy ending, except those who'd participated in the story.

Russia remembered that accursed wood pile. It was near the favorite hunting ground of bears, wolves, and all things that loved to eat young nations. It had been his sole responsibility to attend to it, especially since his cousin Macedonia had left to be raised by Greece at an early age.

Poland vaguely remembered the pony. It had been made by Babushka, who'd made General Winter give it back when they got home. He recalled she'd stood next to her giant mortar and pestle, large enough for a full-grown nation to stand in, and General Winter had not argued over the return of the toy pony.

Serbia slipped a hand into her skirt pocket, finding the little charm made of wolf fur she'd been allowed to make after capturing General Winter.

Bohemia sighed very softly and rubbed her eyes. Telling the story to Babushka had been awkward and scary for the four of them, since they'd disobeyed her. At least she and Serbia had come out very friendly with each other since that wolf hunt and had almost never argued ever since.

General Winter sat next to Siberia, quietly clenching and unclenching the arm of the sofa the two sat upon, releasing waves of frozen air. He'd never liked the fact that four very young nations had worked together to capture him. He'd lost his wolf tail to little Serbia when she asked for it, he'd been bullied into returning Poland's painted wood-and-horsehair toy just by Babushka Slava standing next to the mortar and pestle symbolic of her identity as the original Baba Yaga, Russia had gotten bragging rights over the force of nature until the wolf had escaped, intent on making Russia's winters the worst in the world, and the only real mercy he'd been granted was seeing Bohemia being placed on the spot when telling the tale of four young and disobedient nations who'd overpowered winter himself. Siberia quietly stroked his gloved hand and he slowly relaxed.

America spoke first in the ensuing silence. "That was a great story! I had no idea they went off hunting a wolf on their own when they were little. Do you have any other good stories about them when they were little?"

En masse, the Slavic grandchildren looked for the emergency exits, only to find them barred and generally blocked. They turned to Babushka, praying to any and all higher powers that she would have mercy on her grandchildren.

"Why, yes, I do have more stories, stories I told them as children and stories of their own adventures as children."

They were doomed.


	11. Trip for the Food and Drinks

A/N: Longer chappy, but you have to admit, America was surprisingly not clueless about Russia, ne? Additional stories from Babushka will be collected in another fic, ONLY if people review and ask to see more tales told by Babushka.

Disclaimer: I only own Bohemia, Slovakia, Siberia, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Macedonia, Bulgaria, Serbia, Croatia, Montenegro, Slovenia, and Babushka. Everyone and everything else belongs to the creator of Hetalia, as is the right and proper thing for any writer's work.

* * *

It was hours after sunset when they finally paused for supper, moving the party to a grandiose dining room. As they waited for Babushka's grandsons to fetch more chairs for everyone, England turned to America curiously.

"That was surprising."

"Eh?" America asked quizzically.

"You actually knew something about Russian folklore and music," Arthur stated with a touch of surprise.

"Eh? Oh. That. There are a lot of immigrants to my home, including Russians, and they talk about all kinds of things. I guess I picked it up from them." Alfred looked at his big brother. "Why?"

"Hmmm? Oh, you don't normally know about this sort of thing. You usually pay more attention to current events and pop culture. It surprised quite a lot of us that you knew this much about Culture." The way he said "culture" really did set it apart enough to deserve the capital letter.

Alfred shrugged. "I guess so. Hey, do you know what we're having for dinner?"

Any respect Arthur might have developed in Alfred's awareness about the rest of the world was killed with that single question.

* * *

No one in the Slavic family of nations felt dinner was going to come fast enough, since Babushka still had control of the conversation until they sat down. They didn't care how good or bad the food was, so long as it came soon. Bohemia rather early on found an excuse to escape: she offered to bring out some vanocka and select alcohol for the evening before Ivan did. France and England offered to help her carry the bottles back, as did Russia. Babushka would have objected if Libushe hadn't agreed that having three extra pairs of arms would be beneficial.

As they walked out of Ivan's palatial main house to a storehouse Bohemia had taken over for the duration of the month, Ivan walked ahead to unlock the doors while Arthur and Francois trailed behind to talk to Libushe.

"I heard Grandpa Germania brought his kids over the other day," Arthur began. "How was everyone?" Even though Arthur was counted a grandchild of Grandma Celt, he had strong ties to Grandpa Germania.

"They were good. A little shocked that they were all related, but they did suffer amnesia during the start of the Renaissance," Libushe added, her eyes on the snowy grounds.

"Oh, then Ludwig was there," Francois said cheerfully. "Have you continued dating him yet?" There was a hint in his tone that he wouldn't mind going on a date or two with her, but France would go on a date with any female nation, and possibly some of the male ones.

"Not yet. Well, we can't exactly 'continue' dating if we were never really dating in the first place."

France and England stopped dead in their tracks while Bohemia walked on for a few paces. Startled by their sudden absence, she turned to look at them. "You…you weren't dating him before?" Arthur asked incredulously. "I thought Germany's boss in WWII said that Ludwig wanted his beloved Bohemia to be one with him?" He didn't have to say that he'd realized his mistake when he'd handed her over to the Fuehrer. No one mentioned the state she'd been in at Potsdam and seldom discussed WWII around her.

"Nope. Ludwig didn't even know about the engagement until Prussia asked almost a week ago in front of Grandpa Germania and Babushka." She turned and narrowed her eyes to see Ivan returning from having unlocked the storehouse, carrying extra lights for them through the snow.

France crunched through the snow to gently wrap an arm around her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Bohemia-chan."

"It's all right, France-nii," she said quietly. "We agreed to a couple dates after the holidays, and we'll see where we go from there."

France grinned as he squeezed her shoulders. "It's all right by me if it doesn't work out with him, Bohemia-chan. After all, France-nii will always be here for you."

The Central European nation laughed out loud. "No, France-nii, I'm not dating you and I'm only going to cry on your shoulder as a little sister would cry on her knightly playboy big brother's shoulder. Thanks for the offer, though." Through the Middle Ages, France had become a sort of adopted big brother to her, taking care of her and helping her from time to time, as a big brother in a normal family would do for a beloved younger sister.

Arthur came up on her other side, the modern equivalent of her medieval brother France and grinned. "Much as I hate to agree with Francis, we'll both be there for you."

"Thank you both," she said as Ivan reached them with the light.

"What sort of drinks did you have in mind, Bohemia?" Ivan asked curiously. Bohemia had come for the holidays with a carefully covered large sleigh-cart of a class used for transporting barrels of alcohol in tow.

"Well, I brought some of the better beer from Plzen and I brought some of the white wines, too—Gewurtzstramminer and the like," she said, leading the way to the storehouse and into its cold depths.

"Plzen? That's the Pilsner stuff Alfred's fond of, right?" Arthur asked curiously as Francis gravitated automatically toward the wine casks.

"Yeah," she said, selecting a barrel carefully from the stock and handing it to Arthur. "Dunno how he brews his Pilsner, but I brought some of the original Pilsner with me." She strolled over to the wines.

"They're all white wines," the wine-loving country said a touch ruefully. "No reds?"

"I don't specialize in the reds. Don't think I have the right soil to make a lot of it. Pick one that looks good and pick it up." She headed over a corner where she'd stored wrapped packages of what France suspected was bread.

"What are we having for dinner and dessert?"

"Pork, dumplings, potatoes, and some veggies for dinner. I did a lot of cooking this morning, so I just came here to get the dessert I packed. It's vanocka," she added with a smile.

"Vanochka? I don't believe I'm familiar with it," France called back as he knelt to read the careful inscriptions on the wine casks.

"It's a braided sweet bread, like brioche or challah. I think America calls it hoska*," she added, on the off-chance that it would prove helpful as she stood up with a large brown paper bag stuffed with bread.

France smiled and selected a cask. "This one should go well with a brioche type of bread. As for hoska, I think America and I were talking about bread once and he briefly referred to hoska while he was listing some of the different types of breads immigrants had brought to his house." With surprising ease for such a flamboyant country (not surprising when one remembered that Francois, as the root of chivalry, had probably been the classic knight way back when), he hoisted the chosen cask onto a shoulder. He grunted, his breath steaming in the cold storehouse. "I'm not used to his," he muttered softly.

Bohemia smiled at Ivan. "Ivan, since we both had to suffer through Babushka's stories, I think it's fair if I bring out some vodka I've been hoarding."

Ivan reached for the vodka when she produced it after a few minutes of searching carefully in the stacks of bread.

"Wait. I'll give you the vodka if you agree to get your spies off my property at once. Got it?"

The former Soviet nation sighed. "It's a deal."

* * *

*Americans of Czech descent have a Christmas dish we call hoska. It's a braided sweet bread with raisins and dried fruit, very labor intensive but quite delicious. From further studies, I found that what my family lovingly calls "hoska" is not the word used in Czech for this dish: what American Czechs call hoska is what the Czechs call vanocka. Go figure.

As for wine and beer, the Moravian Czechs specialize in wine, especially whites. The majority of the country BELIEVES in beer. Wine and water and vodka are nice, and the Americans, Germans, and Brits may call themselves beer-chuggers, but the Czechs (as of 2004, the last reputable study) hold the title for highest per capita consumption of beer in the world. America only has about the 13th highest ranking, England stands prouder at 6th highest, Germany comes in at 3rd, Ireland (surprise, surprise) comes in at 2nd, and the Czechs grin over their glass tankards at the highest consumption: 156.9 liters per person per year, over 20 liters per capita in a year higher than the Irish. The part of me that is nervous of drinking and driving is now mildly terrified of how the Czechs can live with that much beer...


	12. An Evening at the Ballet

Thanks for the reviews, and I love Babushka myself. I'm amused how people see their Slavic grandmothers in her. She was modeled partly on my Slavic grandmother. She is nice. She just loves her granddaughters more and Ivan's just a walking disappointment to her. Most of the time. He just does not succeed in catching a break from her, except on very special occasions.

There's a Polish variant? oO Wow, that's actually really cool, and I'm glad I fulfilled your wish of publishing something in English. I'd love to see the Polish story, but I sadly speak English, some rusty French, a very little German, and an itty bitty bit of Welsh. This story grew mostly out of the idea of Babushka Slava. We may yet see more of her.

Not a really long chappy, but Christmas, the next part, will be cooler and longer. I'll be working off and on over the next few months on preparing some fics to explore the Germanic family, Bohemia and Germany, and Bohemia's own history in Europe.

A/N: I own only Babushka, Bohemia, Slovakia (Zdenko), Bosnia, Herzegovina, Montenegro (Davor), Serbia (Slobodanka), Bulgaria (Borislav), Croatia (Vjekoslava), Slovenia (Ljudmila), Macedonia (Aleksander), and Siberia. The ballets belong to their composers' estates. The rest of Hetalia belongs to its creator, not to me.

* * *

The next week and a half after the visit from most of the rest of the world was quiet, aside from various personal feast days and storytelling in the evening before a roaring fire. There were the regular escape attempts by Ivan, to no avail. Babushka had ensured that one member of the family was with him at all times and that she personally carried the key to the storage house with the alcohol.

The 21st (5th of January) dawned as frigid as the days before. Four full days of preparation remained. The day before, very early in the morning, Babushka had been inspired enough to evict the grandsons to acquire a real spruce tree for Christmas, with the orders that it should be as impressive as a German or American tree. The evening had been spent by Bosnia, Herzegovina, and Montenegro decorating said tree, while Bulgaria, Russia, Poland, and Slovakia huddled by the fire, working on restoring heat to their frozen limbs. General Winter had opted to not help, saying he had better things to do.

It was expected, once again, to be a quiet day with Babushka. Now deeply into the holiday season, Ukraine had settled down with some dried sheaves of wheat and was crafting them into additional decorations for the house, not that there weren't a lot of religious icons, spruce boughs, and wheat-made-into-decorations decorating the vast house already. The effect would be homey, if it wasn't for the way the icons' eyes followed one everywhere and the boughs of spruce in the plainer spaces didn't look like Babushka's chicken-legged cottage during the midwinter festivals. Croatia settled next to her cousin with trays of wheat sprouts she was growing in water. They added a fresh, happy green next to the happy gold of the wheat, the grim green of the spruce, and the dour colors of the religious icons.

America arrived shortly after lunch bundled up but dressed surprisingly neatly in very classy clothing. Babushka glanced up from what she was knitting and smiled.

"America, dear, how good of you to visit us today!" she said, beckoning him to come forward and surprising him with an affectionate kiss on both cheeks. Ivan tried not to glare icicles of doom at his former rival for world domination.

"Fine, thanks, Babushka," he added, shy for a moment in the face of the grandmotherly affection of the Slavic grandmother. "I got tickets for everyone tonight for the ballet at my place. I heard it's still December for you guys, so I had them put on the Nutcracker."

"Oh, my, that's generous, isn't that generous, Ivan?" Babushka said, not even having to put saber-shaped icicles into her voice to aggravate the former Soviet state. "When is it? We shall have to get dressed to go. Did you prepare us a supper, or shall we have a bite to eat here?"

"Eh? It's at 7 o'clock. Um, I don't have anything ready, but there's a nice restaurant near the theater, so I got reservations. Does Italian sound good to you?" America asked, not totally sure of how to respond to Babushka, but warming up to her as time went on.

"Italian is delightful! Grandchildren, put on your good clothes! We are going to the ballet tonight!"

* * *

They stepped out of the restaurant and headed out to the theater to find their seats in the orchestra section, far enough back so that they could see everything, but close enough to fully enjoy the spectacle. Babushka was chatting animatedly with America, who was increasingly at home with her.

"Do you go often to the ballet? Ivan has written a lot of ballets, though he doesn't admit it." For once, Russia felt the quiet pride of getting a compliment from Babushka.

"No, not often. I only really go once a year, and it's to see the Nutcracker during December, before Christmas. I like it a lot, and I like Ivan's ballets." A compliment, from Alfred?

"Oh, which other of Ivan's ballets have you seen? I quite enjoy the music written for them, so rich and emotional!" This had to be one of the biggest Slavic nation's best dreams ever: compliments from everyone.

"Hmmm, well, I've seen the Nutcracker, Sleeping Beauty, Swan Lake, and the Firebird. They all have pretty music, and Ivan has a lot of good dramatic music. Sometimes I use his music for film music, especially during the holidays." This was way too good to be true. Didn't his great rival have the saying, "Pinch me!" for when one thought one was dreaming?

"My, you've seen four of his best! Are you sure you're not one of my grandchildren?" What? Was this the pinch?

"Ehhh, no, I don't think so." Maybe that momentary weirdness was part of the dream. Dreams tended to be weird.

"Do you have any grandparents?" The weirdness was continuing. Where was this going?

There was a long pause before America responded. "Well, no, not really. We don't exactly talk much." Well, this weirdness made sense; America's grandmother was speculated to be Native America, who was not on good terms with either of her grandsons.

"Oh, you poor thing! You can be an honorary grandson, honored like my granddaughters, and you can call me Babushka!" This was a nightmare. This wasn't fair. This should be illegal, adopting someone on a whim and treating them better than your own grandchildren of the same sex as the honorary grandchild. The air turned icy in Ivan's vicinity as he began plotting ways to blackmail Alfred into not being an honorary grandson of Babushka.

"That's very nice of you! Hey, Ivan!" he called out, turning to the former Soviet state.

"What?" Ivan asked with the thin veil of a smile concealing an apocalyptic arctic winter.

"Your grandmother's awesome! She's welcome to visit me and hang out any time! Can you invite me over anytime she sees you?"

Russia struggled internally against a deep-seated urge to throttle the younger nation out of a complex Molotov cocktail of emotions, including frustration, intense dislike of America, and a bit of jealousy and despair thrown in. Smile still intact, he said, "Sure," in the voice of someone who wants to deny reality that his grandmother favors his rival over him as a grandchild.

There wasn't time to say anything else as the orchestra started playing the overture. Meanwhile, on the edges of the Slavic entourage, a few nations drifted in to sit with others. One was Ludwig, who liked good music, including that of Russia's famed composer Tchaikovsky.

He slipped in and sat very straight in the velvety seat next to Bohemia. There was a faint blush on his cheeks. "You look nice this evening," the Teutonic nation told his Slavic neighbor, offering her a delicate white rose to match her white satin dress and silver jewelry. Surprisingly, he planted a shy, chaste kiss on her cheek.

Libushe blushed softly in the growing darkness. "Thank you, Ludwig. I didn't know you were coming." She delicately inhaled the rose's fragrance, closing her eyes to savor the light, sweet scent. "This is beautiful."

"Well, er, America sent me a ticket and said he was taking everyone at your house to the ballet tonight. I normally don't do a lot of ballet, but I like classical music, and, er," he trailed off, looking down as the blush grew a little. "Glad you like the rose."

Libushe also flushed. He had come because she was there. The implication was there. Not absolute, but a definite suggestion. Both blushed even deeper when Germany shyly took Czech's childlike hand and gently squeezed it, both turning their eyes to the stage as the curtain went up.

* * *

Awww, isn't it cute how America pulls off culturally ignorant and then suddenly shows off that he's not clueless and is actually knowledgeable? If you hang around most Americans long enough as an anthropologist, you realize that it's not that America is culturally ignorant. It's that America doesn't care about high culture and international culture.


	13. Preparations for Christmas

A/N: I only own Babushka, Bohemia/Czech (Libushe), Slovakia (Zdenko), Bosnia (Dubravka), Herzegovina (Biljana), Montenegro (Davor), Bulgaria (Borislav), Serbia (Slobodanka), Slovenia (Ljudmila), Croatia (Vjekoslava), and Siberia. Everything else belongs to the creator of Hetalia.

A/N 2: Beginning of the end of the story. After this, I will try to tell more tales of the Germanic clan, tell the tale of Bohemia, maybe do a collection of one-shots of Bohemia x Germany, and possibly continue having fun with Babushka. We shall see what we shall see.

* * *

Dawn on Christmas Eve (8th of January) still had a few hours before it arrived, cold and dark, though with promises of brightening up before sunset, which would be relatively soon, given how far north they were. Bohemia stood over her two brothers and roughly woke them up. "Wake up, Felix and Zdenko! We're going out to get ingredients for dinner tonight and sauerkraut soup!" She didn't speak loudly, since only the Czechoslovak twins were allowed to eat today, and Poland was dragged where his sister wanted him to go when she put her mind to it. Being the only female Western Slavic nation definitely had its advantages, as far as Libushe was concerned.

As far as Felix and Zdenko were concerned, having even one sister was vastly overrated. Poor Russia had two, and Bulgaria, Montenegro and Macedonia (who still refused to come) had five. Poland rolled over, hoping Czech would go away if he ignored her. After all, it sometimes worked. Slovakia, on the other hand, sat up, groggy and resigned to his fate, and then shook their older brother. "Come on, Felix, get up. You're only going to get her mad if you refuse, and if we stay in this house much longer with everyone else, it'll be hard. Besides, Serbia, Croatia, and Slovenia are looking for boys in the family to go cut logs."

That got Felix up, albeit grudgingly. "Isn't Ivan around to help?" he asked, hoping to go back to sleep and sluff the work off on Russia instead.

"Nope," Libushe said briskly. "He and Belarus will be in church all day today. He seemed excited about it for a change," she added. No one said anything. Any excuse to go somewhere not freezing until sunset was welcome, especially if it was away from Babushka and any objectionable relatives. While being stuck around Bohemia and sauerkraut all day was objectionable, it guaranteed not being around Babushka and not being sent into the forest to cut logs.

The brothers changed with a minimum of grumbling, though they were still assigned to harness the horses to the sleigh while their sister got the shopping list for the feast that evening. They were gratified when she returned quickly with the list and a pile of furs to keep them warm. Armed with their list and buried in furs, Bohemia slapped the reins against the horses' flanks, setting out.

"By the way, Libushe, where are we shopping? All the markets in Central and Eastern Europe will be closed this time of year," Felix asked curiously.

"I asked Ludwig to reopen his Christmas markets for the day. I figured we'd do any last-minute shopping for the whole family, so we need to pick up a lot of straw on the way, on the orders of Yekaterina, Slobodanka, Ljudmila, and Vjekoslava."

* * *

Ivan and Natalia had taken a troika out early that morning to head for church. Yekaterina had considered joining them, but decided against it in favor of preparing to help with the cooking, which should be halfway done by the time the Western Slavs returned with the ingredients for the specialty courses. They tied the horses up outside for the ride home, leaving plenty of furs under the seats for the ride home around sunset.

They were not the first to arrive. A dignified troika was already tied up, and Ivan almost ran back to the troika. Natalia clung to him and looked up at him expectantly. The great Slavic nation sighed and opened the doors, slipping quickly instead so as not to freeze.

Seated tall and straight in a pew at the front of the church was their Babushka. Her head was uncharacteristically bowed, eyes closed, but not asleep; praying instead in Old Church Slavic. Belarus and Russia slipped in to sit next to her, waiting for the priest to arrive for Royal Hours, Vespers, and the Divine Liturgy that were church services for today.

They said nothing, bowing their heads a little, waiting as much for services to begin as for Babushka to speak. Finally, she ceased her prayers, crossed herself, inhaled deeply, and smiled, watching the priest. The priest, clearly suddenly made nervous about the intimidating babushka speaking flawless Old Church Slavic in the front row, returned an anxious smile and began, trying not to fumble his words in front of the formidable babushka of the Slavic nations.

Ivan nervously opened his mouth, only to notice Babushka lift a finger to her mouth, gesturing for silence during the service. For the first time since childhood, Russia saw a gentle and devotional expression on his Babushka's face. She had been converted shortly before she left the grandchildren to spread across Central and Eastern Europe, and still clearly took the Orthodox church as seriously as she had the old mythology. A soft air settled around her as the services really got going, and Ivan found it difficult to speak and address Babushka. Words would have to wait until dinner.

* * *

Vjekoslava sighed after assembling her younger Southern siblings and getting everyone bundled up. "Borislav, Dubravka, Biljana, you stay here to help Yekaterina, since the three of you don't keep Yule Logs. Everyone else ready to go find a good oak grove?" Ljudmila, Slobodanka, and Davor nodded, Davor having been elected to carry oak twigs and the axes. While females easily ran over the males and the small children in the Slavic family, they weren't completely heartless when it came to the three youngest members of the family: Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina.

"Good, let's go," Croatia said, marching out the door with Montenegro carrying the axes, Slovenia carrying the furs, and Serbia having gone ahead to harness the horses to the sleigh.

Being more militaristic than the other girls amongst the Southern Slavs, Serbia had argued against bells on the harness, but given that this was Christmas, and they preferred to be able to find the horses and the sleigh when they needed it, Slobodanka was overruled.

They were lucky: there was a large oak grove not too far from Ivan's house, but it took a while to find the right tree to cut. Davor and Slobodanka favored straight oaks, whereas Ljudmila and Vjekoslava weren't picky about which tree. Since Montenegro was carrying the axes and Serbia was going to cut the tree before everyone hacked it into firewood, straight oaks were sought and a young one was selected, as per their stiff requirements.

Slobodanka grinned and rested her ax against her shoulder as the young oak made a satisfying crunching sound as it fell into the crisp snow, and Davor was just as happy that Slobodanka was on his side today. Glancing upward, the little boy smiled. "The sun's coming out," he said quietly as the snow began to sparkle and glow between the bare branches.

His three big sisters smiled at him and then set to work cutting the oak, gathering the logs into their arms when they were done and handing their youngest brother the twigs and axes. It was getting close to lunch, and they had to hurry home to prepare dinner. The Western Slavs would be home soon with supplies for dinner, and Ukraine, Bulgaria, Bosnia and Herzegovina would have made good progress on dinner.

* * *

The Western Slavs were glad when they arrived at Germany's house. He had set up a small market on the grounds and was waiting for them with his three dogs at his heels, bundled up for warmth.

Bohemia reined in the horses and handed the reins to her farming twin before being helped down by Ludwig. "Ludwig, in addition to the list I got, we're going to need some straw. Could you direct my brothers to where they can get some, after we get some sauerkraut soup?" she asked, trying to hide a blush.

"Of course," Germany said, offering a hand to take the reins from Slovakia. The Western Slavic brothers got out after handing their Teutonic neighbor the reins.

"I don't need soup," Felix said, not looking Ludwig in the eye. "I'm on a fast until sunset, like everybody else in the family."

Zdenko shrugged. "I'll take you up on the soup. We'll have to help with the cooking when we get home, and it's unreasonable to cook delicious food while fasting." He didn't have to add that his twin had seriously affected his traditions over the years.

The sauerkraut soup was good, particularly considering the fasting, and Ludwig directed them to a nearby farm willing to sell straw cheaply. Once her brothers were gone, she finally looked at Ludwig in his bright turquoise eyes. "Shall we get shopping?" she asked shyly.

Ludwig offered her his arm. "Yes. What's on the list?"

"Well, there's carp, poppy seeds, dried fruits and nuts, some walnuts, cod…"

* * *

It was sunset when services ended and Babushka led Russia and Belarus back to the troikas. They still had not spoken once that day, having spent all day in church and having now to hurry home, help finish cooking, and dress nicely for a feast and subsequent gift-giving. Regardless of the traditions of a few members of the family (Croatia, Slovenia, and Ukraine), presents were going to be opened after dinner.

Finally, Babushka spoke as she got into the troika. "Those were nice services, Ivan. I'm glad to see communism hasn't destroyed your piety." The compliment was shot right through by that dark comment about communism and the fact that the Slavs had only recently openly embraced Christianity again.

"You know, Babushka, I'm hosting the Winter Olympics in 2014," Ivan said, uncertain of what to say, other than ANYTHING to keep the vaguely positive mood going.

Babushka smiled brilliantly and flung her arms around Russia, kissing her second grandson on both cheeks. "That's wonderful, dear! You've finally done something wonderful! What will you do for the opening and closing ceremonies? You MUST invite me, Ivan, I INSIST upon seeing how wonderful it is, Ivan dear."

Belarus got into the troika and took up the reins, for once not interrupting the former USSR and their Babushka. Babushka Slava hardly had any good words for the public family head, so the honor in Babushka's eyes of one of her grandchildren hosting either set of Olympics would kick up Ivan's personal worth a few notches in their Babushka's eyes.

The great northern nation was uncertain what to do, so he got up beside his younger sister, still uncertain. He blushed, though, and didn't smile. This almost NEVER happened, and called for celebratory vodka…if he could get some. That would have to wait until dinner, though. "Thank you, Babushka," he said softly. "I'll invite you and have my film companies make a recording of it for you."

Babushka smiled so hugely that her eyes crinkled shut and her grandchildren thought they saw tears. "Thank you, Ivan, that would be delightful." She gracefully mounted her troika, taking up the reins. "Let's go home. You should help with dinner while I set out the gifts and we should all dress well for dinner." Ivan made a mental note to make sure everyone prepared for an imperial feast. When Babushka called the family together for a family feast during the holidays, they had no excuse for not turning out for an event of imperial grandeur and elegance.


	14. The Night Before Christmas

A/N: I only own Babushka, Bohemia/Czech (Libushe), Slovakia (Zdenko), Bosnia (Dubravka), Herzegovina (Biljana), Montenegro (Davor), Bulgaria (Borislav), Serbia (Slobodanka), Slovenia (Ljudmila), Croatia (Vjekoslava), and Siberia. Everything else belongs to the creator of Hetalia.

I think Babushka does love all her kids. It's just that she loves her granddaughters more, and since Ivan is the eldest male actively hanging out with the rest of the target, he gets more responsibilities; since he doesn't have the best sense of humor and when he screws up, does so on an epic level, he is SUCH an easy target for his Babushka.

* * *

Three candles burned in the shelter of the hands of Croatia, Slovenia, and Babushka, shining on the imperial garb of silks, gold, and jewels. Little pots of wheat shoots had been placed on the great table at intervals, products of Croatia and Slovenia growing them during the holiday season.

Serbia was carefully putting away her apron after spreading the straw on the floor and on the table beneath the pristine white tablecloth. Serenely, she picked up a basket of walnuts and strew them on the floor, stepping carefully to minimize the straw caught in her gown and slippers.

Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina stood at the door, gazing at the sky, each trying to be first to glimpse the evening star. Bohemia had finished preparing the little fortune-telling games she played with her twin and knelt next to her three small cousins, wrapping her arms around them as they watched the heavens. Slovakia, on the other hand, was carefully placing the fortune-telling games safely out of the way for later.

Poland and Russia were hanging the fur coats of themselves, Croatia, Slovenia, Babushka, and Belarus by the door, since they were each attending a special Midnight Mass later this evening.

Ukraine and Belarus swept in and out of the kitchen, carrying the 12 dishes the family had decided upon for dinner to the table and carefully arranging them. After debates around the family, they had decided upon fried carp, pita, borscht, potato salad, dried cod, uszka, stuffed cabbage, fish soup, round bread incised with a cross, salad, strudel, and cookies. Fish, bread, and veggies were heavy on the menu because most members of the family had Lenten meals at Christmas, and fairness had to be observed.

Bulgaria knelt by the fire, carefully placing the Yule logs on the fire and sprinkling the holy water Croatia and Slovenia had specially given him to put on the logs. In the corner rose the great spruce tree the boys had acquired, decorated by the youngest nations with ornaments of Bohemian glass, homemade paper pieces, and carefully arranged candles. Underneath it was a small mountainside of presents, due to 13 present grandchildren and Babushka. Siberia and General Winter had decided to go out for dinner that particular evening and apologized in advance.

As everyone was finishing up, a cry came from the foursome at the door. "The evening star! It's out! Christ is born!" The family drifted toward the table, now having difficulty concealing their hunger. They didn't sit down immediately; the more religious members of the family took the hands of the less religious and began a special grace. The less religious decided to be tolerant, bowing their heads and closing their eyes. As soon as "Amen," was said, it took less than a minute for them to be seated and toasting.

Dinner was absolutely delicious, made more delicious by everyone's hunger. As everyone found a chair around the tree, a debate began as to who would hand out presents as Grandfather Frost, the Snowmaiden, Saint Nicholas, or Jesus, depending on the preferences of each. Bulgaria offered a special pita bread with a coin to determine who would hand out gifts of the 14 people present. Ukraine got lucky and smiled, having dressed in silvery blues and whites with snowflake motifs.

"I'm playing the Snowmaiden," she said, smiling as she held up the gold coin. Yekaterina drew up a stool and began handing the presents to each person in turn, smiling as each person opened their present.

Ivan was anxious as his older sister got down to the presents from Babushka. Davor had gotten a set of toy soldiers, Dubravka and Biljana had each gotten a fancy toy horse. Feliks had gotten a fancy set of tack for his pet pony…admittedly not quite the right size, but close enough that he could make the adjustments with a little work. Libushe had gotten a fine set of jewelry, Slobodanka had gotten a classy new Swiss army knife. Natalia's gift made him very nervous, being a small set of goods normally given to newlyweds and what looked suspiciously like a marriage license.

Finally, his turn came and he was handed a bag…in the opposite of his favorite color. This was a bad sign. Reaching in with a serene expression exuding winter, he removed from the tissue paper a beautiful scarf…decorated with roses. Roses, the flowers of Bohemia, America, and England, on HIS scarf. Not sunflowers, but ROSES. He managed a Siberian smile for Babushka. "Thank you, Babushka, I'm sure it will keep me warm." As fuel for a fire, maybe.

He didn't really notice the rest of the gift-giving, and participated as necessary in the caroling. Must. Get. Rid. Of. Scarf. He could "accidentally" leave it behind in the troika, get back to the troikas first, and bury it in the snow. His smile brightened a little and his siblings and cousins sitting near him sighed as the air around them warmed. Since Babushka had come, they'd carefully given him gifts decorated with sunflowers, carefully avoiding roses.

When the time came to go to Midnight Masses, the attending family members went to the door, just in time for a knock at the door. Babushka opened it, already wearing her fur coat, upon a collection of nations grinning and singing on Ivan's doorstep, led by England, who absolutely loved caroling. Admittedly, the song he'd selected for them to sing was one about a wren being cooked for dinner on Saint Stephen's Day, but the sentiment was there.

Once they'd finished, they grinned and looked expectantly at the Slavs. Especially England, who somewhat clearly held an upturned cap in his hand. It took a moment, but Babushka smiled back and dropped a small bag of gold into the hat. The air suddenly went ice cold in the vicinity of Ivan. England grinned even more broadly and carefully pocketed the bag. "Is everyone going out this evening?" he asked, curious.

"My, this is unexpected, but Feliks, Ivan, Natalia, Vjekoslava, Ljudmila and I are going to Midnight Mass at our churches. Yekaterina, Libushe, Zdenko, Borislav, Slobodanka, Davor, Dubravka, and Biljana are staying here, however, to play some games and spend a quiet evening at home," she added, winking a little when she glimpsed Germany in the crowd of nations. With that, she nodded to the visitors and led those going to Mass out to the troikas.

Within ten minutes, the remaining Slavs were settled again around the fire, this time with their foreign visitors. The three youngest sat by the tree, playing quietly. Ukraine and Canada had dragged out a loveseat, on which they were seated, snuggling as unobtrusively as possible. America and England were trying to keep an argument down, until France joined in, at which time they were told where the alcohol was so they could do something less noisy. Slovakia and Bulgaria were sitting out of the way, relaxing quietly from Babushka and Russia's conflicting and mutually oppressive atmosphere.

Bohemia sat with Germany in chairs at the edge of the gathering. She was quietly leaning against him, watching the fire. He rested his cheek on top of her head, also watching the fire. It was a peaceful end to the big day during a hectic visit. They still had a week to go, but knowing Babushka, it would mostly be filled with her dragging Ivan around to all the quaint Russian markets for souvenirs to take back to the other grandparents, which guaranteed everyone else a quiet week where the major requirements were to be home in the evening for family dinners and to not tear the house apart with any squabbles. Considering that, it seemed like so little to ask and so much to give. They just felt a little sorry for Ivan, especially since Babushka had made a last minute errand the other day to pick up a special gift for Natalia: a marriage license.


End file.
